


But I'm not sick

by Daisy_Chain



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aramis also being a stubborn arse, Aramis being a bit of a baby, Athos is having none of it, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Porthos being a bad ass, d'Artangan is just a bit confused by it all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-13 15:39:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3387128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daisy_Chain/pseuds/Daisy_Chain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A curse on the stubborness of Musketeers (well...one in particular).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Aramis."

"...Aramis?"

"ARAMIS!"

At the cry, the marksman jolted his head with a snort and a flail. His usual grace of movement completely lost as he flapped his limbs in an apparent attempt at staying seated on the bench before the supper laden table.

"What?" he barked indignantly at Athos as he finally righted himself, shooting a frown in the direction of a sniggering Porthos.

"I think he was just trying to save you from drowning in your stew," d'Artangan said, a grin adorning his face as he stifled his own snigger when a death glare was also sent his way. He dropped his eyes to his own bowl of food in mock apology, amusement still glinting when he caught the gaze of Porthos who openly laughed once again.

"I think you should consider taking yourself to your bed," Athos said, his quirked brow indicating exasperation at the antics of his comrades...but the slight up turn of the corner of his mouth indicating otherwise. "Perhaps you should also consider going there alone for once so you may actually get some sleep."

"Why on earth should I be considering taking myself to bed at this hour?" Aramis said, affronted. "What am I? Twelve?"

"The way you've been acting over these last few days would say that you're not far off the mark," Athos replied, his lip twitching.

"What _are_ you talking about Athos?" Aramis said thickly, a moment before a sneeze rocketed from his mouth.

"Eurgh. I'm no psychic Aramis but I reckon it's probably got something to do with the stuff that's currently leaking out o' your face," Porthos said, covering his mouth with his hands in mock horror as if it would warn off the tidal wave of plague which he had predicted would stem from his ailing friend and consume the garrison.

"I told you days ago, I am fine," Aramis said with a pout. "I don't get sick."

"I'm fairly certain you mentioned that thirty seconds or so before I had to pick your arse out of the dirt that one time last year," Porthos said with a grin. One which widened at the look of betrayal which Aramis fired in his general direction.

"Or the time before you when you were in bed for two weeks after you insisted on coming with us with a full blown flu when we trekked through the snow to deliver a pointless package to whichever Duke it was last winter," d'Artangan piped up, stifling another snigger at Aramis' squeak of indignation. "And then worried us all half to death whilst you burned your way through a fever in the arse end of nowhere with no medical supplies," he continued, openly grinning as their marksman began a disgruntled grumbling under his breath.

"Or the time you fell down a river bank when you fainted after you ignored a raging chest infection, all the while protesting how well you felt," Athos added quietly, a serious note to his voice. "If I remember rightly that was the time we thought you had actually died when we pulled your body from the almost frozen river until you coughed up half of the Seine...which did nothing to help your chest if I also remember rightly."

At Athos' addition, Aramis had the good grace to stop his mumbling, recognising the chastising tone to their leader's voice. In truth he still felt a little guilty at the worry he had caused the group as a result of his stubborn actions although he would never admit as such. He couldn't quite rein in the overtly dramatic eye roll, however, which resulted in yet another round of roaring laughter from Porthos accompanied by the still suppressed chortle of d'Artangan.

"But it's true, I don't get sick!" Aramis still protested weakly, the effect of his statement somewhat ruined by the shudder which passed through his traitorous body. "...often."

Though the others mirrored his eye roll in unison, in truth they could not argue the statement. On a whole, of the men, Aramis was least likely to succumb to whatever strains of illness rattled throughout the garrison's tightly packed bodies. Whenever something took hold of the Musketeers, it would spread easily from man to man as they worked, trained and lived in the cramped spaces surrounding the yard. And for the most part, there always seemed to be the slightly smug form of Aramis, standing above the infirm even when he was elbow deep trying to ease everyone's symptoms with his patchy medical knowledge.

Which just meant that when he did finally get ill it hit him hardest.

He was also easily the worst patient of all the Musketeers, frequently protesting his own sickness even when he could barely keep his feet. Ignoring advice from his brothers and physicians alike. Often the only way to keep him under imposed bed rest was a loudly barked order from their Captain coupled with necessary manhandling, usually from Porthos, although in truth when he was finally sick enough to take to bed rest he was usually pliable enough for a child to herd him there.

His head and shoulders drooped despite himself. In truth he felt awful. What had started as infrequent sniffles and a light cough had developed over a week of early starts and hard patrols late into the night, into a full blown flu which was beginning to sap him entirely of his strength. Stubborn nature be damned. Catching Athos' scrutiny of his wilting self, he pulled his shoulders back, sitting up straight and barely suppressing a groan as his aching muscles protested.

"I'm fine," he said, meeting Athos' eye, adding a honey tone to his voice which he usually reserved for when he was attempting to convince the Captain of his innocence for a crime he had usually committed...The frown deepening on Athos face suggested his attempt had failed.

"We are on the late patrol of the palace again tonight Aramis," Athos said, his voice even, "if you are not up to protecting the safety of the King and Queen then I need to know."

The Red Guard had spied a man lurking around the palace grounds a couple of weeks prior and security had been amped up considerably. Although a small number of Musketeers were always present on patrol throughout the night, a duty none of them relished when their turn rolled around, the guard number had been considerably bulked, temporarily, until the threat was definitely nullified. Resulting in more regular patrols and every man in the garrison spending at least three nights of the week strolling the palace grounds. A so far fruitless task.

"I resent your lack of faith in my abilities quite frankly Athos," Aramis bit out, a smile gleaming in his eyes despite his seemingly angry words. The attempt at bravado was somewhat lost on his brothers as they all heard the fatigue laying heavy in his voice.

"We can 'andle it tonight Aramis, just get yourself some sleep ay?" Porthos said, mirth still lacing his words but a genuine concern creeping into his expression as he noted the dark smudges of exhaustion under his brother's eyes for the first time.

"Porthos, I assure you tonight will be the breeziest of breezes and then I shall take myself to bed and not get out of it until I feel better," Aramis replied, instinctively dodging the concern and knowing that his statement left room to wiggle out of his words. After all, he hadn't said how much better he would have to be feeling before he decided to leave his bed. A few hours sleep post patrol would do him the world of good...surely.

"In that case, eat up," Athos said, motioning with his eyes to the Spaniard's barely touched meal. "We'll be setting off for duty at sundown." Athos cast an eye over Aramis' bowed head at the quizzical face of d'Artangan and the knowing expression of Porthos. Both of the older Musketeers had extensive experience with their marksman's stubbornness when it came to his health. They unfortunately knew that the only way they were going to get him to admit how he truly felt was to run himself down to the point of no return. But they would be there to catch him when he did.

Aramis swallowed thickly, glowering at Athos with a pout before nodding curtly and taking a defiant mouthful of his now thoroughly cold stew despite his absolute absence of appetite.

* * *

The grounds were almost silent as the two men made their way around the palace in the darkness of the wee hours of the morning. The moon gleamed off the white marble of the grand statues dotted around the garden, and seemed to make the light coloured gravel crunching beneath their feet glow.

"How long until sunrise again my friend?" Aramis bit out, panting a little at the effort of talking now his nose had thoroughly blocked up. His breathing had become more laboured as the chill of the evening had taken hold of them and settled, it seemed, directly in his chest.

"Not long now Aramis," Porthos replied, glancing out worriedly from under his hat at the sheen of sweat which now coated his friend's face. There had been a steady decline of banter coming from the marksman over the duration of their patrol, a sure fire way of knowing that he was beginning to feel less than amazing.

"This night is beginning to feel like it's decided not to end," Aramis replied with a huff of laughter. A cough rattled through his chest a moment later sounding wet in the stillness of the evening.

"You could always 'ead back early to the garrison," Porthos replied, knowing the answer he would receive before he got it. "Tonight is as dead as every other night. That fella is long gone."

Aramis had barely opened his mouth to protest when a shout from across the garden caught their attentions.

"Stop! In the name of the King!"

The men glanced at one another for a moment, before taking off across the dewy grass in the direction of the Red Guard's cry. Porthos easily stretched out ahead of Aramis, unwillingly pushing his concern for his friend to the back of his mind as he focused on the task at hand. The safety of their monarchs came first above any one of their lives in the line of duty so he blocked out the wheezing gasps coming from behind him where the Spaniard lagged and dug his heels in as he put on another burst of speed. In any case, if he was there to take down the shadow darting ahead between the topiary it would mean Aramis wouldn't have to strain himself trying to do the same.

At that thought he moved forward, changing course slightly to try to head off the figure dashing in front of him. He could see several forms of the Red Guard trailing behind their target and suddenly the shapes of d'Artangan and Athos closing in from the other side.

The cool air felt wonderful on his sweat slicked skin as he tore towards the man, cursing up a storm at the low hedges that the King seemed to favour as he leapt over yet another one in his path. So concerned was he with the obstacles slowing him down, Porthos did not notice his quarry stopping suddenly and whipping around to meet him. He grunted as he ran bodily into him, ricocheting off what seemed to be a wall of muscle and crashing to the ground. Surprise registered for a moment before the pain as he noted that the man was thicker and taller than him. Something he didn't often come across given his own broad stature.

A moment later, a dull ache seemed to spread up from his flank as he lay prone on the floor, and he pressed a gloved hand to the spot the pain was radiating from. He registered the gleaming red coating the leather with a shock as he pulled his hand away, looking up to his assailant and seeing the moonlight shine suddenly off the dripping blade he held in his hand.

"Porthos!"

The large Musketeer looked up in a daze, the wound having dulled his senses as his brain raced to catch up to the events unfolding around him. d'Artangan and Athos came haring into the clearing, rapiers drawn although they dared not move towards the man as he stood closer to Porthos than they, brandishing his dagger.

"Place your weapon on the ground sir," Athos bit out dangerously. The worry for his friend making his words sharper and laced with every authority his past as a Comte would allow.

"Never!" the deranged man screamed into the night. Waving it erratically as the Musketeers slowly began advancing. "Step away! Don't come any closer...I am here to stop the King before he damns us all to hell by laying with his bastard Spanish wife!" Spittle flew through the air with the force of his words and he took a step towards Porthos' prone form, stilling the advancement of his comrades.

"We can have a word with his Majesty and ask him to grant you an audience to air your grievances," d'Artangan lied easily, keeping eye contact with the man in an attempt to calm him down. "Just step away from the Musketeer."

Porthos muddled mind did not catch the deception for what it was as his wound oozed sluggishly into the ground. He was thoroughly confused as to why the whelp would be offering such a thing and more confused as to why Athos was letting him.

"The King can rot in purgatory for all I care!" the man yelled out suddenly, eyes rolling in his head and the whites standing out starkly in the darkness. "But if I must kill you all first to get to him then so be it!"

At that word he lunged forward, knife brandished high as he aimed to plunge it into Porthos, who could not hope to react in time to move away from his doom.

Twin cries of "No!" were accompanied by the unmistakable report of a musket, and the crazed man was pulled up short, eternal surprise painted on his face as he looked down to the hole which had just opened up in his chest. Blood bloomed across his ragged shirt as his heart beat its last and he slowly crumpled down to the floor. A final ragged breath tearing itself from his lungs.

Porthos groaned as he turned his head, seeing d'Artangan and Athos whipping around in an attempt to also find his saviour.

The wan and shaking form of Aramis stood, fifty paces behind them. A smoking gun in his hand as he still sighted down the barrel, his handsome face twisted in rage at his felled opponent. None of them could miss the sweat pouring down from his brow, nor the subtle tremors which were assaulting his body as he twitched slightly in his misery. All forgotten as he had drawn his musket to put and end to the threat to his brother.

"Aramis?" d'Artangan said, worry clouding his voice as the marksman seemingly did not react to any of them.

"Easy Aramis, you've saved his life," Athos said, walking towards him slowly and keeping his tone even and low as he would a spooked horse. He placed a hand on top of the one which held the spent pistol, and lowered his brother's now freely shaking arm to his side.

"...Porthos?" Aramis whispered, his eyes shining with confusion and the fever which had painted two bright spots of colour high onto his cheeks.

"I'm alright, thanks to you," Porthos said, grunting in pain as he attempted to pull himself up to a sitting position. d'Artangan rushed down to his side to help him, pressing his hand firmly to the wound eliciting another grunt from Porthos.

Athos clapped a hand onto Aramis' trembling shoulder as realisation crossed the befuddled man's face. He made to take a step forward to join d'Artangan in checking over his brother, and promptly fell down into darkness as his legs folded beneath him.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord knows why but I always seem to enjoy fics where one or more of the guys ends up ill so I couldn't help but try my hand at one myself. As usual I only had the vaguest ideas for this story (actually I just had one line which won't leave me alone which I have yet to use in this fic but I will dammit!) so poor old Porthos getting stabbed was a bit out of the blue, but I'm going with it. The muse wants what the muse wants.
> 
> I know I'm beating up Aramis again too..but I can't help it. He is my favourite after all (don't tell the others).  
> As always, all comments and critiques are gratefully received!


	2. Chapter 2

Aramis came to with a groan triggering a bout of harsh coughing, culminating in a retch. Some small part of him was aware of a hand rubbing firm circles across shoulders, easing the aching muscles and helping somewhat as he emptied his stomach of everything he'd apparently ever eaten into a bucket which had appeared under his nose.

He flopped back into the cushions behind him with a low moan, fidgeting in discomfort as his entire body burned with fever. He batted weakly at the cup of water that was placed by his mouth, grunting in displeasure when Athos gently but firmly pushed his flailing limb down onto the mattress.

"No Aramis, we need to get some water into you," Athos said steadily, straightening the blanket over Aramis' feet where he had kicked it off. He'd been keeping vigil over two of his brothers for the remainder of the evening and late into the morning. Sweat had poured from Aramis the entire time, dampening his sheets and plastering his wayward curls to his forehead. That coupled with the recent vomiting left Athos in no doubt that getting some liquids into their brother was a top priority. Assuming Aramis' rebelling stomach would allow for it.

"Por...thos?" Aramis asked weakly. Athos grimaced at the rawness of his voice.

"He will be fine," their leader replied, motioning with his head to the bed next to Aramis', currently occupied by the too still form of their brother. d'Artangan sprawled half on the foot of Porthos' bed having fallen asleep in the chair he'd pulled across the room once the physician gave him the ok. "He passed out before we got him back here so there was no trouble with the stitches."

"Sti...stitches?" Aramis said, his brown eyes widening in worry as he pulled himself forward, making to check on his brother. The movement tore another bout of wet coughing from his rattling lungs. He stared mutinously at Athos as the man placed a hand gently on his chest to hold him down. He batted again at Athos' hands petulantly and shifted as if he were poised for another try at throwing himself across the room to Porthos' bedside.

Athos smiled in spite of himself. When Aramis was this sick he became almost childlike. The first time they had dealt with it, it had been an unnerving experience. Aramis had an independent and reckless streak running through him a mile wide. Only their constant companionship had tempered it to a manageable level like the taming of a wild colt. So when he had become so ill they could sit him on his bed and he hadn't moved until they said it was okay to it had been unsettling.

After their many years of friendship they had learned not only to eventually expect this stage when he was sick, but work with it. Of course there was the flip side when the marksman's stubborn nature went to war with his malleableness as was happening now. He flailed a little as he attempted to launch himself forward only to be easily pushed back once again.

"Aramis if you don't sit still I will hit you," Athos dead panned, struggling to hold in a chuckle at the pout which settled on Aramis' face and the dramatic sigh which issued from his mouth. "I assure you, Porthos is going to be alright. The dagger bit deeply but didn't hit anything he needs and so far you're winning the 'who can run the highest fever' race."

"Wake...up?" Aramis croaked. His thoughts felt untethered. Like they were floating in fog and he couldn't quite grasp them. The pounding headache wasn't helping any either. Luckily for him, he was surrounded by friends who knew him thoroughly enough to understand his waffling.

"No he hasn't woken up just yet," Athos said, purposefully keeping the note of worry from his voice. The last thing he wanted was a fever ridden Aramis injuring himself trying to reach their unconscious comrade. He toyed with lying to the stricken man but he knew if their positions had been switched he wouldn't have appreciated it. "The physician said he has lost a lot of blood and his lack of consciousness is his bodies' way of trying to replenish it."

Aramis chest began rapidly rising and falling as his congested breathing sped up at the news. He rolled his head back and forth, limbs twitching as the fever raged through him and he tried to get the panic blooming in his chest under control.

"Aramis calm down. Calm. Down," Athos said, leaning forward and placing his hands on Aramis' sweat slicked cheeks, noting as he did so the still too hot feeling of his skin. "He is going to be alright. You saved his life back at the palace. But he won't thank you for hurting yourself right now so you need to calm. Yourself. Down. Come on now, breathe with me Aramis. Just breathe."

The glassy quality to Aramis eyes had suddenly deepened and Athos realised the fever had taken hold once again. The young Musketeer blinked owlishly as he peered around the room, confusion plastered on his face. But the sound of Athos steady breathing and the hand rubbing on his chest in slow circles encouraged him to breathe as deeply and evenly as his ruined lungs would allow. Slowly, the rapid blinking gave way to heavy lids as the stubborn Musketeer attempted to fight the call of unconsciousness. A battle he seemed to loose all of a sudden as his body went limp, falling into a fitful sleep Athos was still grateful for.

Athos leaned forward, placing a moistened cloth onto Aramis' too warm brow and taking a moment to stroke the side of his face. Worry creasing his eyes. He allowed the stresses of watching over his brothers wash over him for a moment and a crushing weariness seemed to follow hot on its heels. He bowed his head and took a deep breath of his own. Jumping slightly when a voice leapt out of the room.

"Is he always like a puppy when he's sick?" d'Artangan asked, his voice rough with too little sleep but a smile turning the corner of his mouth. In truth he hadn't wanted to intrude on what looked like a intimate moment between his two friends, but it had felt more wrong to sit in silence and watch.

"Fortunately for us, yes," Athos said with a crooked smile at their marksman. "He'll fight like the devil to avoid accepting his fate when he is ill but once it finally takes hold luckily it seems to wipe out his pride and we have a chance to help."

d'Artangan huffed out a small laugh, eyes roving the Spaniard's pinched face with fondness before he leaned back into his chair. Wincing at the kinks in his back from his uncomfortable sleeping position. He stretched his aching muscles and attempted to wipe the exhaustion from his eyes before looking to his other prone brother. Concern creasing his features.

"How is he looking?" Athos said, noting the change in the young man's expression.

"Pale. And far too still. I don't think I have ever heard him lie so quiet in all his life," d'Artangan said with another smirk which didn't quite reach his eyes.

"It is fairly unnerving for him to sleep without renting the air apart with his snoring," Athos conceded with a snort. He stood, mirroring d'Artangan's stretch before crossing the crowded space to sit on the edge of Porthos' bed. Like the boy had said, Porthos' usually dark skin was far too pale and the only indication that he still lived was the steady, even rise and fall of his chest underneath the covers. For which Athos was grateful. The stillness made the giant form of Porthos seem small. It felt wrong.

Athos lay the back of his hand against Porthos' brow and breathed a sign of relief when he felt no trace of fever. Pulling back the thin blanket, he raised Porthos' under shirt before peeling back the bandages, nodding at the thin line of a wound. The stitches were not as neat as Aramis' but the physician had done a good job and the edges of the slit were free of any redness and pus. As he replaced the bandages one of his fingers slipped, grazing the wound slightly.

Porthos' eyes snapped open and he hissed, wincing and instinctively trying to move away from the pain.

"Porthos!" d'Artangan cried, leaping to his feet and leaning over his friend.

"What bloody 'it me?" Porthos said, aiming an uncoordinated hand at the fire which throbbed in his side. Athos caught it easily, stopping him from disturbing the linens and potentially doing more damage.

"My apologies my friend for my clumsiness," he said, a smile breaking out on his face as he locked eyes with Porthos. "Although, if I'd known that was all it would take to wake you I would have prodded it sooner!"

"What the bloody 'ell did you prod?" he asked with another wince, frowning as Athos stilled his hand once again.

"You were stabbed in the palace grounds after you caught up to that loony who wanted to kill the King," d'Artangan said, crossing the small infirmary to where a jug and some cups stood. He filled one with water and walked back to Porthos' bedside, holding the back of the big man's head as he helped him sip some of the soothing liquid.

"Oh yeah," Porthos said, smiling a thanks as he took another sip, his frown deepening as he struggled to recall the night's events. "Aramis saved my bacon. If it weren't for 'im..." Porthos trailed off slowly as a look of dawning crossed his face and he sat up too quickly, tugging at his stitches and eliciting another hiss. "Where the bloody 'ell is 'e? Last I remember 'e'd forgotten how to keep 'is feet."

"Peace Porthos, he is here," Athos said, stepping to the side to allow his friend to see their unconscious marksman.

"What's wrong with 'im?" Porthos asked, worry colouring his voice.

"His illness finally caught up with him is all," d'Artangan said, laying a hand atop Porthos' arm in a soothing gesture.

"Indeed, you and I both knew he wouldn't last the night on patrol," Athos said with an exasperated huff. "He knew it too but you know how he gets."

"'as 'e started talking in Spanish yet?" Porthos asked. Leaning back into his pillows now he knew there was no imminent threat to his friend.

"Not yet," Athos said with a chuckle, looking across to d'Artangan whose face had clouded in confusion at the question. "When he gets ill he tends to forget where he is and that I and Porthos are singularly unable to understand his musings when he rambles in his mother tongue," he explained.

"Apart from the swear words of course...When 'e busts out the Spanish that's usually when the fever is real high," Porthos said quietly. Memories of past episodes running through his head.

"Or when he's managed to drink one too many of a particularly good vintage," Athos said with a half grin.

The others chuckled quietly at his words before looking over to Aramis as one fondly. The man twitched in his sleep and let out a pitiful mewl almost as if he sensed their eyes on him. Athos crossed back to his bed instinctively, replacing the dampened linen on his head and returning to rubbing circles on his still rattling chest. Aramis instantly stilled at the contact, falling bank into an easy sleep though his eyes still roved beneath the lids. Athos had not been a tactile person before Aramis and Porthos had burst into his life. But Porthos was physical without even thinking about it and Aramis, well. Aramis needed touch to ground him. Without the very real contact of his brothers he was likely to act instantly upon his impulses and only their palpable presence held him back.

This need for the physical was never more present than when he was sick or injured. On some very scary occasions it had seemed to be the only thing tethering him to his corporeal body and Athos had quickly gotten over his aversion to physical contact after a short period spent with his brothers. The last time he had had to comfort someone in such a fashion had been with Thomas and after his untimely death Athos' very nature had rejected that side of him. But it seemed Porthos and Aramis had been able to draw it him out without any trouble at all after his years of shunning aught but the most compulsory of human contact.

The addition of d'Artangan had only served to draw him out even further, so it was without any conscious thought at all that he moved to sooth Aramis. Something which Porthos noted with a smile.

"You should get some sleep yourself," Porthos said, his own eyelids beginning to droop as the tension left his shoulders. The wound settled to a dull throb and only really lanced with pain if he chose to breathe too deeply. Or move. Or think about moving. Which he had already decided not to do for the foreseeable future. He noted the dark circles beneath Athos' eyes and the way his shoulders slumped as he tended to their friend.

"In a moment, I just want to make sure Aramis is settled," Athos said thickly through a yawn. In truth he was done in. A fortnight of intermittent evening patrols coupled with the adrenaline of the previous evening and the hours of vigil was finally catching up with him. By this point it was late morning, but with the curtains drawn and a candle burning, his body called for sleep.

"Sleep Athos, I will look after him for now," d'Artangan said, gently but insistently grasping Athos' shoulders and steering him to the chair he had vacated. It wouldn't be a comfortable rest, but they all had more experience than they would care to think about of sleeping sitting by the beds of their stricken comrades. Looking at Athos' face it was apparent that any rest would be welcomed.

Athos resisted for a moment before allowing himself to be lead away after glancing at Porthos. The big man smiled at him and motioned with his head to the chair. Athos sank down onto it with a sigh. He placed his feet at the end of Porthos' bed, crossing them at the ankles and leaning back into the seat. He grasped his hat with the intention of covering his face and threw one last glance at Aramis, shooting a mirrored smile at Porthos as they took in the scene. The Gascon was sitting cross legged on the bed next to Aramis, his leg easily resting on the marksman's side as he continued rubbing his congested chest as Athos had been doing. A low humming was issuing from mouth which neither Athos nor Porthos recognised.

"My mother used to sing this to me when I was sick," d'Artangan said with a sad smile, so low it was almost to himself before continuing to croon the Gascony lullaby.

Porthos aimed a wink at Athos before closing his own eyes and letting the soothing noise wash over him as he sank into his own pillows. Athos' lip twitched as he suppressed a grin before leaning back and placing his hat over his face.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I should visit my family more often! I seem to be the most productive/get my ideas when I am home home to see them (I'm not being completely rude though...this was mostly written over a lazy day during which my mum was on her laptop and my dad was watching the football, which I hate. So I didn't feel guilty putting in my earphones and tapping away).  
> This is basically just a hurt/comfort story for the sake of it. I realise there is almost no plot at all but I am being a tad self indulgent this time round. I'll have to come up with some sprawling, plot heavy story for whatever I write next to stop getting lazy.  
> As always, all comments and critiques are gratefully received!


	3. Chapter 3

Athos woke gradually to a low mumbling. The heaviness of his limbs and the comforting darkness made him slow to remove the hat from where it covered his face. He realised with a happy jolt that the mumbling was the combined voices of Porthos and Aramis, both apparently whispering in an attempt to not disturb their slumbering friends. Athos chose to leave the hat in place and allow the timbre of their voices to wash over him like a balm as he coasted in the strange space between being awake and asleep.

"And you're sure the wound isn't hot to the touch?" Aramis said, eliciting a small huff of amusement from Athos as he rolled his eyes in affectionate exasperation. Aramis could be holding onto his own severed head and he would still find time to enquire about their most minor grazes and bruises. Although to be fair Porthos was sporting slightly more than a graze on this occasion.

"I 'ave told you to stop worrying about me and get yourself back to sleep," Porthos replied, barely suppressing the irritation in his voice. Evidently he had been fencing questions from the marksman for some time. "You need your sleep."

"Humour me Porthos, I find myself unable to cross the room to see for myself," Aramis said. Athos knew what it would have cost for Aramis to admit to such a thing, such was his pride, and he knew Porthos knew it too as he heard the man sigh quietly before replying.

"No there's no 'eat. It's not red. There's no pus and I do not 'ave a fever," he said, anticipating any further questions.

"That's good," Aramis said quietly, fatigue lacing his voice.

" _Your_ fever only just broke Aramis, you've been tossin' and turnin' for 'ours. It's getting late now, get yourself some sleep," Porthos said. Athos noted the mention of time with a thrill of surprise. He'd clearly slept straight through the afternoon until god only knew what hour when he'd meant to only sleep for a little. And from the leaden feeling of his muscles, his body was quite prepared to let him sleep for a lot longer.

"I have been unconscious for several hours it seems my dear Porthos. Allow me a few moments with my eyes open," Aramis said, although he was quite clearly fighting the urge to pass out as he spoke. Stubborn ass.

"You need to stop doing this 'Mis," Porthos said, his own voice thick with exhaustion.

"What? Lying in bed all day? Pot calling the kettle black my friend, no?" Aramis said, eliciting a low chuckle from Porthos.

"Very funny. You know exactly what I'm talking about though," Porthos said, his words taking on a serious tone. "You can't keep running yourself down to the point where you pass out. It's dangerous."

"I did not 'pass out'," Aramis said affronted. "I merely tripped...and then decided not to get up for a little while."

"..'Mis."

"Oh all right," Aramis all but snapped out, "I don't like being ill, Porthos, so if I can convince myself that I am not sometimes it helps with the symptoms."

"Aramis," Porthos cajoled, "'onestly name me one time where pretending you're better has actually made you feel better?"

"Well...there was...I mean...oh shut up," Aramis said as Porthos chuckled once more, "look I just can't think of any right now. That does not make you right."

Athos smiled from beneath his hat although he agreed wholeheartedly with Porthos' statement. They needed to figure out a way to make their marksman see sense when it came to his health.

"Thank you by the way," Porthos said quietly.

"For what?" Aramis said, his tone still a little clipped in a rare example of him losing control of his emotions and allowing his aggravation at Porthos' words to shine through.

"For saving my life," Porthos said before a pause. "...again."

"Porthos," Aramis whispered, a smile now evident in his voice. "You know you don't ever need to thank me for that."

"Yeah but all the same."

"It would take a lot more than a flu to stop me in that respect my friend," Aramis said. "But, imagine if I had decided to stay in bed for that evening," he added cheekily. Knowing he was pushing his luck.

"As grateful as I am 'Mis, I'd rather not have you killing yourself on the off chance you need to save my neck," Porthos said, caught between amusement and exasperation.

"Oh shut up you great lug," Aramis managed through a jaw cracking yawn.

"Stop fighting and go to sleep," Porthos said again.

"I'm not even...remotely tired," Aramis replied petulantly though his voice cracked with exhaustion.

"Do I have to threaten to hit you once more?" Athos asked. Muffled from beneath his hat. He had to stop himself from laughing aloud at the sudden silence which fell on the room, as if he had caught two naughty children doing something they knew they should not.

"Hello to you too," Aramis said after a moment to gather his wits.

"Don't take this as anything but joy at your immaculate return to the living," Athos continued still not moving to uncover his face, "but I am tired and if you do not go back to sleep I will follow up with my threat to punch you. Illness or no."

"As you say...mon petit capitaine," Aramis said. Porthos snorted at the words but after a shuffling of blankets and a creaking of beds, both fell silent.

"That is better," Athos said, struggling to keep the amusement from his voice as he finally gave into his bodies' demands and also fell dead asleep.

* * *

A groan tore him from his slumber and it took a few minutes of slow breathing through the pain of aching muscles and a raw throat and lungs, before he realised it had come from him. He groaned again as he tried to peel his eyes open, blinking slowly to try to clear his vision as he focused on the blurry face before him. A face which turned out to belong to d'Artangan, who was radiating worry.

"Aramis are you ok?" he asked, his features marred with a frown.

Aramis tried to answer but found his throat had dried to a point where he could only croak a response.

"Sorry, wait there," d'Artangan said, darting across the room to retrieve him a cup of water. He hurried back, slopping some of the liquid in his haste as he leaned in to allow the marksman a few sips from the lip. Aramis sighed as the water made contact with his sore throat, cooling and easing as it went.

"That's better," he bit out, his voice raspy with lack of use. He coughed once in an attempt to clear his lungs, setting off a barrage which left his eyes watering. "What time is it?" he said once his fit had finally subsided.

"Middle of the night," d'Artangan replied quietly. "Still a few hours until dawn."

"So it's a good thing I'm too pretty to need beauty sleep isn't it?" Porthos' tired voice called from across the room.

"I apologise if my ailing self woke you from your slumber my friend," Aramis retorted, his face slightly reddened from the force of the coughs.

"It would be good of you to just be better again now. If you could possibly manage it," Athos said, removing his hat from his face and placing it on the table as he slowly stretched himself in the chair. Wincing as his muscles protested the hours he had spent in that one position.

"Oh but Porthos doesn't have to magically knit his wound together and go leaping out of his bed though apparently hmm?" Aramis asked, petulantly.

"Porthos isn't the one waking us up by hacking out a lung."

"Ere, I got stabbed in service to 'is Majesty the King himself," Porthos said grandly, the effect ruined at the grunt which broke out as he attempted to sit himself up in bed. "I don't just 'ave a case of the sniffles do I?"

"Sniffles?!" Aramis said, aghast.

d'Artangan for his part sat on the end of Aramis' bed, looking bemusedly from one of his brothers to the next as they bantered back and forth.

"Compared to that one time I reckon you can call this a bout of the sniffles, yeah," Porthos said with a grin.

"That..one time?" d'Artangan asked hesitantly.

"Oh here we go again," Aramis said, with a dramatic eye roll. "Look don't even find yourself with a touch of pneumonia whelp or your so called friends will apparently bring it up every time you dare sneeze."

"A 'touch' of pneumonia," Athos echoed dryly, his eyes widening. "You are aware that you actually nearly died that time yes?"

"It was bloody years ago wasn't it?" Aramis shot back.

"I don't think the subsequent passage of time has that much standing on your potential mortality during an episode don't you think?" Athos asked evenly.

"Eh?" Porthos said, a puzzled look crossing his face as his sleeping brain tried to keep up with the sheer amount of syllables pouring from Athos' mouth.

"It doesn't matter if it was 'bloody years ago', Aramis apparently still nearly died," d'Artangan supplied helpfully.

"Ohh, OK. Yeah, what he sodding said you stubborn arse," Porthos said, turning to Aramis. "You weren't the one picking up the bruises every time you tried to get your ever so ill friend to take his bloody medicine were you?"

"I apologised didn't I..." Aramis said, as meekly as his personality would allow.

"What happened?" d'Artangan asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Nothing. Like I said it was years ago," Aramis huffed, frowning.

"Personally I think the boy would benefit from learning what not to do should he find himself unable to breathe for days at a time hm?" Athos said, attempting to keep the humour from his voice.

Aramis huffed again at his words, folding his arms and pressing himself back into his bed in an apparent attempt to melt into the covers.

"So..?" d'Artangan prompted as both Porthos and Athos dissolved into chuckles at their brother's antics.

"So, it had been three days of being pulled from our sleep by choking coughs already," Athos began.

"Bit like tonight actually," Porthos said, raising an eyebrow in Aramis' direction where it was swiftly ignored as the marksman looked anywhere in the room but back at Porthos.

"It was in the middle of Autumn," Athos forged on despite the interruption, "and a very wet and cold one at that. Though despite the weather, the King had decided that an evening garden party would be quite the best idea he had ever had."

"Course, you can imagine who had the honour of standing guard all sodding night," Porthos bit out, irritation still colouring his words at the thought.

"Quite," Athos replied with a nod, "and, much like yesterday our fearless Aramis decided that even though he could barely stand, let alone breathe, it would be the height of bad manners not to attend to his duties."

"We were guarding the King of France!" Aramis all but wailed, trying and failing to not sound like a sullen child. "It's not like it was one of those fetch and carry missions Treville is so fond of."

"Yes, because we all know precisely how many of his Majesty's hundreds of yearly parties turn out to be occasions where we're actually needed and not just being used as fancy, leather clad wallpaper hmm?" Athos replied, an eye brow raised.

Athos feared Aramis' eyes would get stuck in the back of his head such was the magnitude of his eye roll, before he heaved another dramatic sigh and folded back in on himself. Mumbling what could only be curses under his breath in Spanish.

"Well as you can imagine, as the damp, chilly evening worked its way into our bones it was doing wonders for Aramis' cough," Athos continued wryly.

"Oh just get to the bit where I fell down and Porthos didn't bother to catch me already," Aramis said loudly, cutting off whatever Athos was about to say next.

"'Ere I didn't not 'bother to catch you'. I've told you before you fainted without much warning," Porthos retorted.

"You were too busy trying to woo the serving boy into bringing you a platter of stupid, tiny King food," Aramis shot back "and I did not faint! I fell over."

"I was feeling faint with hunger myself, if I didn't eat soon I would 'ave 'fallen over' on my arse as well."

"I was quite clearly in distress and you were too distracted to notice."

"I was starvin'! You shouldn't 'ave been there anyway. Treville told you to take a few days leave."

"Some friend you are! Why don't you just shove your leave up your -."

"Gentlemen!" Athos interjected, exasperated as their voices raised to shouting level. "Indoor voices yes? Regardless, Aramis 'fell'...after he fainted, and we were left in that tricky situation of trying to take him back to the garrison without anyone noticing our absence and without his gangly limbs offending any of the aristocracy."

"I'll give you gangly.."

"Aramis!"

"...Cabeza culo"

Athos fixed a stare at Aramis, who had the grace to lower his eyes under Athos' gaze. He nodded, appeased, before continuing.

"After haring back to the garrison with a very unconscious Musketeer, we called for a physician who pronounced a case of pneumonia and left us with numerous teas and potions meant to ease his ailments and carry him through his sickness."

"One of those 'if 'e makes it through the night' kind of things you know what I mean?" Porthos said, an unusually grave note to his voice. His eyes had glazed over as he remembered that terrifying evening.

"I'll remind you, friend, that I didn't actually die.." Aramis said quietly, no mocking edge to his tone as he brought Porthos back to the present, the man smiled at his friend in response.

"Well like Porthos mentioned...getting said teas and potions into him was something of an adventure..." Athos quipped.

" _Aramis?...Aramis come on now, the physician said you've got to take this medicine to get better," Porthos said, a pleading note in his voice._

" _There's no use for now friend," Athos said wearily from his chair at the foot of the stricken man's bed. They'd been with him through the night and most of the day and he had not stirred. A bubbling, wet sound issued from Aramis' mouth with every breath, shaking Athos to his core though he resolved to be strong for Porthos, who was taking the situation badly. This was the first time any of them had faced the very real threat of mortality in a way which hadn't resulted from some form of wound or battle and they were both coping with it less than well. "We'll try again in a few hours."_

" _Donde..."_

" _Aramis?" Porthos said, his head turning so quickly it had to have hurt._

" _Donde...donde es..." Aramis mumbled, his eyes at half mast but unfocused and gleaming in his fever._

" _Donde...that's...where isn't it?" Porthos asked Athos, scrunching up his face as he tried to figure out the alien words._

" _I believe so..."_

" _Donde es...donde..Porthos_ donde _!" Aramis said again, clearly getting agitated._

" _You're back in your room mate," Porthos said quietly, grasping Aramis' hand in an attempt to ground him back to reality._

" _Tengo...sed...agua..por favor...tengo...por.." Aramis said, trailing off into a hacking cough and sobbing slightly at the fire which ripped through his chest. "Agua..."_

" _Aramis, come on now, you know I don't speak that nonsense," Porthos said in an attempt at humour though his own eyes shined with worry as he leaned forwards, rubbing Aramis' back to try to alleviate the coughing fit and the pain._

" _He said agua...he must need a drink," Athos said, bringing the cup of the now cooling physician's tea to Aramis' bedside. "Here Aramis, drink."_

" _No!" Aramis suddenly yelled, thrashing as Athos brought the cup to his face and sending both it and its contents across the room._

" _Aramis!" Athos said, shocked by the man's actions and dripping slightly in the candlelight._

" _Tengo sed," Aramis said quietly to himself as he calmed though he fidgeted agitatedly. "Mi...gato...mi gato es enfermada...madre...por favor madre..." Aramis rambled, clearly lost in memory. Porthos looked pointedly at Athos who shrugged back, confusion on his face. He did not speak a word of the language either although both men recognised Aramis calling for his mother and the distress in his voice._

_Athos crossed to the fire where a pot of water sat boiling merrily. Taking another pouch of the dried leaves and herbs he poured them into the retrieved cup and steeped them, blowing on the water to cool it before bringing it back to Aramis._

" _El...el medico?" Aramis asked Athos, his face shining in the warm light and his cheeks pink with fever._

" _Medicine? Is that what you're saying? Yes this is medicine," Athos said carefully, approaching the bed slowly so as not to startle his addled friend._

" _No!" Aramis yelled, throwing himself forward suddenly and grasping Porthos' shirt with enough force to leave marks. "El medico! Para mi gato, Diego...mi gato es muy enfermada, senor por favor...Diego._

" _Who the bleedin' 'ell is Diego?!" Porthos bit out at Athos as he tried and failed to extricate himself from Aramis' clenched fingers. His voice wobbled at the words as he was shaken back and forth with more force than a man as sick as Aramis had any right to possess._

" _Porthos my dear, I really have no idea," Athos said, placing the tea and moving to untangle Aramis from Porthos' shirt, trying and failing to duck the flailing limbs which now he found clumsily aimed in his direction._

_Aramis let go suddenly, flopping back to the bed with a weak rasp of a cough and a moan, his eyes rolling back into his head. Athos leaned forward with the intent to check Aramis' breathing and promptly stumbled back and fell onto his rump with a bang as the man flailed once again scaring Athos more than he would ever dare admit. Porthos would have laughed aloud at the look of terror which flitted across Athos' face if he had not immediately found his hands full of thrashing Spaniard._

" _Aramis, bloody 'ell would you calm yourself," he bit out, swearing as an errant fist connected with his lip, busting it open in a shine of crimson._

" _Donde..."_

" _I'll bloody donde you, SIT DOWN," Porthos yelled, pushing Aramis back to his bed with a thump. The fight seemed to leave Aramis as soon as it had arrived as another coughing fit tore through him resulting in spittle and mucus dribbling from his mouth._

" _Hush yourself," Athos said quietly, approaching the bedside once more after picking himself up from the ground, his movements slow and cautious as if his friend had been replaced with a wild beast. He pulled a linen cloth from their supply by Aramis' bedside and delicately wiped his friend's mouth, not wanting to cause him any more distress in his agitated state. Aramis for his part remained lying down, his eye lids blinking slowly as he fought to breathe and allowed Athos' ministrations. A wary fire burned in his pupils as he regarded Athos though it seemed to dull as he gently wiped at his lip. Porthos picked up his limp hand once again, holding it in his own._

" _Agua..."_

" _Yes, water, speak plain French would you?" Athos said in a hushed tone, finishing wiping at Aramis' mouth and bringing the now re-cooled tea to his friend's face. "I have water here Aramis, agua."_

_This time Aramis sipped at the offered cup, moaning a little as the lukewarm liquid crawled over his raw throat. He managed half of the medicine before his eyes closed completely, a weak cough issuing from his mouth._

" _Right well...'ow long until we have to give 'im the next batch?" Porthos asked Athos, dabbing at his split lip and regarding his brother with a raised eyebrow. A bruise was blossoming over Athos' cheek, no doubt a trophy of an errant limb from their apparently bed bound comrade._

" _The physician said he should take a little of the tea every hour until his breathing eases..." Athos said, wincing as he palpitated his sore face and shook off the aches from the other bruises which were slowly making themselves apparent now the excitement was momentarily over._

" _Oh...good...How about next time you wake 'im up though ay?.."_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well sometimes these boys talk to me and sometimes they don't want to. But I found myself last night after work sitting down to just add a couple of sentences to what I had sitting already, and that whole second half of a chapter came pouring out. I hadn't ever planned for a flashback, nor any actual Spanish, but I had a couple of reviewers asking for some rambling Spanish and apparently my muse was only too happy to oblige apparently.
> 
> My Spanish is from secondary school level, learned about three hundred years ago so apologies for any glaring errors..The mumblings were inspired by my GCSE oral exam where, in my nervous panic, the only two words I could remember in the world were 'sick' and 'cat' and I built my entire answer around them...
> 
> Sorry for the delay, real life caught up with me! As usual, any and all comments and critiques are welcomed.


	4. Chapter 4

The next few days passed in a fuzzy barrage of congested snuffles and exasperated huffing as Aramis attempted to convince anyone with a face that he was in actual fact, fine and fit and ready to rejoin the world. For his part, Porthos sat back and watched the show, perfectly content to rest until the mere act of moving stopped pulling painfully at the stitches in his side.

At least until the sight of Aramis twitching like an ant's feelers from the corner of his eye began to drive him to distraction.

"Would you just lie back and rest already?!" he bit out in spite of himself. Even his renown patience was beginning to wear thin now Athos and d'Artangan had returned to duty after it was recognised that both of their friends were going to make a full recovery.

"I can't _help_ it," Aramis said miserably. "I don't want to be in bed any more."

"Yeah well the last time you tried to make a break for it you ended up chewing dust," Porthos replied purposefully turning away from Aramis so his continuous, fidgety movement would stop distracting him from the passage in the book Athos had leant him to while away the hours in his sick bed. "Try reading."

"I don't _want_ to read," Aramis said, petulantly, reaching an arm out and knocking the stack of volumes to the floor.

"Athos wouldn't be happy to see you treating 'is books with such a lack of respect.." Porthos said, not even making an attempt at moving from his position but rolling his eyes with a grin at the noise all the same.

"Don't care."

"You would if he was 'ere to tell you.."

"Well he's not is he? He's allowed to leave this sodding room whenever he wants to."

"Yes but then 'e 'asn't spent the last week drowning in 'is own fluids 'as 'e?"

"Porthos, don't be so crass."

Porthos chuckled at his brother's tone, the laugh deepening at the dramatic sigh which issued from his side of the room.

He turned back to his book and re-read the line he'd been stuck on for the last hour due to Aramis' antics. It was only when he had managed to get through a full paragraph without distraction that he pulled his eyebrows together in a frown. The Spaniard had gone quiet and a quiet Aramis was a plotting Aramis. He froze, his entire attentions focused on the other side of the room though he did not turn for fear of upsetting whatever scheme Aramis might be concocting.

His suspicions were confirmed mere moments later when the muffled sounds of movement began issuing from the marksman's bed. Porthos cocked an eyebrow as Aramis obviously attempted to stifle his ragged breathing as he made what was becoming apparent as another ill advised stab at freedom. Sighing to himself, he settled into his pillow, allowing Aramis enough time to move across the room before silently turning with the intent of watching his brothers' doomed to fail attempt in case he should need his assistance. He knew trying to stop him wouldn't work. Aramis learned only through his own errors which included, but were not limited to, trying to break free from his sick bed.

Porthos couldn't help but tip his head in appreciation at this current attempt however. Aramis had managed to stagger from the mattress to the table unaided though his legs were as wobbly as a newborn foal. He tried to pull himself up to his full height, failing a little as the muscles which were stiff with illness and a lack of use protested. Striding purposefully, he shuffled to the door, pulling it open and gasping aloud through his rattling breathing as the sunlight beamed onto his pale face, now coated in a sheen of sweat through his exertions. Taking a moment to breathe in the chilly air, and coughing as it hit his lungs fully, he stepped out of the room and into the yard.

Porthos rolled his eyes, marking his page in Athos' book before replacing it on the night stand and pulling back his covers. Lord only knew what trouble the Spaniard was going to get himself into with no one around to watch him. It seemed it was down to Porthos to rein in his wandering friend once again.

He winced as he pulled his legs around and placed them on the ground, holding onto his side as he stood gingerly, testing out his own muscles for the first time in a good few days. He smiled to himself as he found they easily supported his weight and he straightened, still holding his healing wound through his clothes to ease as much discomfort as he could.

Like Aramis, he didn't bother with his boots, shuffling his own way to the door in the wake of his friend as he made it his mission to rescue him. The warmth of the sun's rays raised his own spirits and he mirrored Aramis in taking a breath of fresh air, his grin widening as it filled his lungs chasing away the weariness he'd been feeling since the incident at the palace. He closed his eyes a moment, savouring the warmth, before opening them and continuing on his path to find Aramis. He did not have to go far. Aramis had only made it as far as the supports of the awning stretching above the doorway of the rooms which surround the garrison yard. He stood, leaning heavily on the railings as yet another coughing fit racked his body.

"Bloody 'ell Aramis, what did I tell you?" Porthos said exasperated, moving forwards as quickly as his injury would allow and resting a hand on his brother's shuddering shoulder as he tried to clear his lungs, bent in two at the effort.

"Just...wanted...to feel...the sun," Aramis bit out between ragged gasps, one hand braced on the wood and the other arm clasped across his burning chest in an attempt to ease the fire.

"Come on, back inside with you," Porthos said, squeezing the shoulder his hand rested on in an attempting to turn the younger man to aim him back to his sick bed.

"No!" Aramis said, trying to sound gruff and failing miserably. "I have made it this far and I intend to enjoy the morning from out here."

"You stubborn arse."

"Brainless ox."

"I'm brainless?! I'm not the one killing myself so I can sit in a yard before I'm ready to you typical sodding Spaniard."

"No one asked you to come out here you buffoon."

"Idiot."

"Arsehole."

"Gentlemen!" Both men raised their heads in perfect synch with such twin looks of guilt that Constance couldn't help but laugh out loud despite her reprimanding tone. "That is no way to speak in front of a woman."

"My...sincerest apologies..my dear Constance," Aramis began, attempting to instinctively turn on the charm and failing miserably as another tremor racked his frame.

"What are you doing out here you utter fool?" Constance asked, her exasperation quickly turning to worry as she noted the paleness of both of the men in front of her, and the dark circles colouring Aramis' eyes.

"'e was going for a walk apparently," Porthos said, cocking an eyebrow in her direction before rolling his eyes at his brother's antics.

Constance giggled a little at his expression before stepping forward and taking some of Aramis' weight from where he was slowly beginning to sag more against the garrisons' railings. "Come on you, back inside."

"No, please Constance," Aramis all but whined, turning his best puppy dog eyes to full beam and gazing into her face. "I just want to spend the day out here."

She looked at him in exasperation but didn't say anything, preferring to let his current predicament speak loudly for itself.

"Alright...just the morning then."

She considered him for a moment, looking up to Porthos as if asking his opinion and smiling as the big man looked down at his friend before shrugging slightly.

"Never know, it might do us good to 'ave a bit of fresh air."

"Porthos, I am not asking you to baby sit me," Aramis bit out, attempting an even tone but exhaustion lacing his words. He could not mask the glimmer of hope in his eyes however. Aramis craved human companionship when sick and Porthos realised with a jolt that the marksman had been planning his escape knowing fully that he would follow with him.

"Like I said, it'll probably do us the world of good...d'Artangan isn't here by the way Constance. 'im and Athos are out on patrol this morning."

"I'm well aware thank you Porthos," Constance said with a smile at him. "He came by the house before they left and asked if I wouldn't mind keeping an eye on you two." As she said this she motioned with he head in Aramis' direction, who had bowed his own as he breathed deeply. Evidently her actual mission was to try to keep him out of trouble but she was trying to spare them all one of his tantrums by refraining from saying so.

Porthos smiled openly back at her, nodding over to one of the benches which enclosed the yard. She got the message, leaning under Aramis' arm as Porthos took the other side and shuffling him over to the seat. He plopped down in an ungraceful sprawl and leaned heavily onto Porthos as his friend fell down next to him. Truth be told, he was feeling tired himself after the small bout of physical activity. Porthos turned his head as Constance darted back to the room, smiling as she returned with their blankets, draping them over the men and pulling a corner over herself as she snuggled onto the groaning bench beside her friends.

Aramis, already half asleep, angled his body towards her and curled up so his head was resting on her lap. She sighed contentedly as his congested snuffles eased out and quiet snores took their place, lazily twirling her fingers through his curls as she watched Musketeers milling about the yard completing their daily chores. She glanced over to Porthos and her smile widened as his head fell forward onto his chest and he joined his brother in sleep. It was a tight squeeze but at that moment she wouldn't have traded places with anyone in the world.

* * *

Athos and d'Artangan clattered back into the yard. The sun was just setting on what had been a pretty standard day although both were bone tired with the continuing duties of protecting the King and then returning to the Garrison to look after their friends. Though neither would ever willingly relinquish either task. Dismounting, they each handed the reins of their horses to the stable boy before heading in the direction of the infirmary.

Athos lead through the door, the sight greeting him making a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He turned to d'Artangan, who was in step behind him, and placed a finger on his lips in a silent warning to be quiet. d'Artangan nodded at his friend letting him know he understood and stepped into the room, a grin lighting up his own face.

Porthos lay spread out across his small bed, face down and snoring. Light snores issued from the other bed also where it seemed Constance had been held hostage by a deeply asleep Aramis. She sat propped against pillows at the head of the bed, one arm draped across Aramis' chest and her other hand loosely fisted in his curls. He lay curled against her side looking all the world like a contented house cat. His head lay pillowed onto her stomach.

Athos and d'Artangan quietly sat in the chairs which had stood vigil by their brother's bedsides since their enforced bed rest had begun and glanced at each other with a fond smile. It was a strange thing, their little family, but it worked. d'Artangan's attentions were drawn to Constance, as they often were, when she stirred slightly in her sleep, carefully stretching around her sleeping charge before sleepily opening her eyes.

She jolted a little as they rested on the forms of Athos and d'Artangan, before she recognised who had woken her and a beautiful smile lit up her face.

"He tired himself out with a trip out to the garrison," she said affection lacing her words as she motioned with her head towards Aramis.

"Good, perhaps we will manage to keep him a bed for the remainder of the night without the usual fuss for once then," Athos commented dryly, keeping his voice hushed.

"Wouldn't count on it." Porthos it seemed had also rejoined the land of the living.

"No I am aware that I ask the Almighty for one too many favours in this regard but allow me to live in hope," Athos replied with a grim smile.

"We could just tie his feet together whilst he sleeps," d'Artangan said innocently, though ruining his tone with an evil grin.

"Just threaten to pull that damn feather out of 'is 'at if 'e don't stay put," Porthos added with a conspiratorial wink.

"We could just hide his boots," Constance said wickedly, the way the smile lit up her face making d'Artangan's heart flutter all the quicker.

"Didn't stop m' earlier." The muffled, sleep laced voice of Aramis broke through their mischievous plans causing them all to pause for a moment before breaking out into laughter.

"No you're right, you didn't stop for no boots before staggering out into the yard this morning did you?" Porthos said once he had recovered from his fit of mirth.

"I did not stagger, I walked. Nobly," Aramis said indignantly, the effect slightly marred by the jaw breaking yawn.

"Aye..walked..." Porthos said, his eyes glinting, "walked like Athos after a big night at the Wren more like."

"I resent that comparison," Athos said, eyeing Porthos evenly and raising a brow.

"To be fair, Athos can walk in a straighter line than all of us on a bellyful of wine," d'Artangan said with a grin.

"Per'aps straighter than you pup," Porthos said with a booming laugh, "don't worry though, we'll keep you practising and maybe one day soon you'll be able to hold your wine."

"Wouldn't count on it," Aramis added from under the blanket where he had tucked himself away, still curled around Constance and holding on to her as though his life depended on it.

The affronted look which plastered d'Artangan's face had everyone laughing once again, this time at his expense. He crossed his arms mutinously but the combined amusement of his friends was infectious and he couldn't help but join in.

"Well seeing as your jaunt out back into the real world didn't kill you today I think we can safely say that you will be able to poke your head outside once more tomorrow should this warm snap hold," Athos said to Aramis, returning a smile at the grin which broke across the Spaniard's face.

"Really? You're going to actually allow me to leave this prison?"

"Would you stop being so dramatic," Constance said with a laugh, shaking him gently to emphasise her words. "Maybe I could come play nurse maid again once the bread is made and the linens are drying."

The noise of contentment which issued from Aramis as he nodded his thanks and burrowed further into the blankets made Constance's smile, if possible, even wider and she bent her face and planted a kiss on the disappearing man's head.

"Not a bad idea that," Porthos said with a yawn, his voice still gravelly with sleep.

"Don't think you're getting away with taking it easy either," Athos said pointedly at the man as he frowned mutinously over a huge yawn. "That day trip clearly tired you out as well."

"You wait, the next time you're ill I'm going to set Aramis on you right away," Porthos said, sticking his lip out and pouting.

"With some of his best terrible potions and teas to make you better," d'Artangan added with a grimace. They had all been party to Aramis' cures at one time or another despite his protestations that they were 'not that bad'.

"I do wish you all would stop implying that my remedies are, what was it you said last time Porthos? 'Cups of swamp water'? It's like looking after three babies sometimes and not fully grown Musketeers," Aramis said, exasperated.

"I'll just go grab a packet of tea of yours so you can have one before bed time then," d'Artangan said, a glint in his eye as he made to stand from his chair.

"That will not be necessary," Aramis said a little too quickly, jolting from under the covers to eye the lad. His eyes narrowed as the others whooped in sudden laughter and he returned under his blanket with a dramatic sigh.

"Well I am going to have to get home," Constance said, attempting to untangle herself from Aramis' limbs. "My husband will question where I have been and won't let me return tomorrow if he finds out otherwise," she added pointedly as Aramis refused to let her go, whimpering slightly. At her words, however, he let her leave the warmth of the bed, gazing balefully up at her until she laughed kindly at his pathetic expression and leaned down, placing another kiss on his forehead as she smoothed back his messy curls fondly.

"Allow me to escort you home," d'Artangan said, leaping from his chair so quickly he almost stumbled and shooting a glare at Porthos' and Athos' knowing chuckles.

"Straight back here afterwards d'Artangan, we're on early patrol in the morning and we're still apparently down two men," Athos said, standing formally and nodding a head at Constance as she departed. The gratitude for her actions plastered across his face. She smiled shyly back at him, dipping her own head before placing a hand on Porthos' shoulder by way of farewell as she left the room. d'Artangan close on her heels.

"I think I will leave you to your rest then gentlemen," Athos said, snuffing out the candles nearest to him and leaving only one to flicker in the now darkened room.

"Don't you forget your patrol either, hmm?" Porthos said a little pointedly. Both men knew Athos would be aiming for a bottle the moment he got home although his drinking had been less than a problem recently with the departure of his wife and the addition of d'Artangan to their little group.

"I shall not," Athos replied, nodding his head to show he had understood the veiled meaning.

"Wrap up, the night is chilly and we don't need you getting sick too, you're a nightmare when you're ill," Aramis mumbled from his bed. Frowning at the pair of them as they exchanged incredulous looks before bursting into laughter at his words. It had been a long few days.

Whatever witty retort or verbal slap which was about to issue from Athos' slightly gaping mouth, however, was cut short by a sneeze which rocketed from the man instead.

The room froze. After a beat, Aramis turned to look at Athos, a gleam in his eye as he attempted a subtle sniff to clear his nose.

Without another word, Athos turned on his heel, striding from the room and closing the door against the laughter roaring from his brother's beds. 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I'm partially a terrible person for making you wait so long for an update, but I do also have valid reasons. In the form of my mother taking ill suddenly resulting in a late evening dash five hours up the country for a week (she's doing fine now and I find myself back at home trying to catch up on life and failing miserably).
> 
> That plus lots of other life stuff, and trying to find a new job and trying to squeeze in a social life in between took its toll but this has still been a long time coming.
> 
> Regardless of my lateness, I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it despite it being light hearted nothing banter and hurt/comfort without a plot.
> 
> As always, all comments and critiques are warmly welcomed.


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